The morning sun crept lazily over the village, lighting the wide field near the river where Euryale had been told to meet… someone important.
He didn't know who yet.
Silas, of course, had already announced to the entire street that "Euryale is finally going to train his magic! Maybe he'll make a fountain in the sky!" and Lyra had nodded solemnly, as if confirming the prophecy.
Pa and Ma had smuggled him to the field quietly, under the guise of chores and "helping with irrigation." In reality, Velin had asked to observe in private—an old custom, apparently, when White Core Bearers were first learning to stand with water rather than fight it.
Euryale's stomach flipped. He didn't know how to do magic, except that last time the water had… listened. That was nice, but it hadn't exactly answered any questions.
Velin was already there. Sitting cross-legged on the grass, robe pristine despite the dew, as if the world bent to avoid dirtying him. Kaelen, the scribe, crouched nearby, notebook ready—but discreet, just as Ma had instructed.
"Good morning, young storm," Velin said pleasantly, eyes glinting in the early light. "Are you ready to stand with the water?"
"I… think so," Euryale said cautiously, glancing at the river. "But… it might not want to listen again."
"Ah," Velin nodded. "Then let us begin where most fail: with humility."
Euryale frowned. "Huh?"
Velin's lips twitched, amusement hiding in the corners of his eyes. "Do not try to force it. Ask. Please."
Euryale rolled his eyes. "I already did that last time, and the water barely moved!"
"Perhaps you were distracted by… the idea of being impressive," Velin said gently. "Try again, but focus only on the water."
Euryale knelt beside the riverbank. The cool spray kissed his bare feet. He lifted a hand. "Uh… water? Please… do something?"
Nothing.
Silas, who had been leaning against a tree, giggled. "Maybe it doesn't like your tone!"
Lyra poked Euryale's back. "Say 'please' more nicely!"
Euryale groaned. "I am saying please nicely!"
Velin didn't speak. He merely lowered his hand into the river, letting the current curl around it calmly. Not forced, not glowing, not bending—it simply acknowledged him.
Euryale squinted. "What are you doing? You're not… magic-ing."
"Observe," Velin said. "Feel the water, and let it feel you."
Euryale concentrated. He willed the water to lift. A small wave twitched, then splashed him square in the face.
"Ah!" Euryale sputtered, coughing, water running down his nose. "It's attacking me!"
Silas doubled over laughing. "The river hates you!"
Lyra covered her mouth, trying not to giggle, but failing. "Big brother, you're soaking!"
Velin, completely unfazed, placed a hand on Euryale's shoulder. "It is not attacking. You are merely moving into it rather than with it. Try again."
Euryale shook his head, dripping. "I don't get it! I just want a little wave, not a tsunami!"
Velin sighed softly, a sound like wind over calm water. "Again. But slower. Step one: ask. Step two: wait. Step three: do not flinch when the water… responds."
Euryale knelt again, shaking. He whispered, "Please… just a little. A tiny wave. Nothing huge. Not a tsunami, not a flood… just… polite?"
The water shimmered. A small arc rose—only a few inches, curling delicately.
Silas clapped. "He did it! He did it!"
Lyra leaned over eagerly. "Can I touch it?"
"Don't. It's polite, not a toy!" Euryale scolded, though a grin tugged at his lips.
Velin nodded approvingly. "Good. Now maintain it. Do not panic if it wavers."
Euryale concentrated. The small wave rose higher—then, suddenly, slipped from his control, shooting forward and splashing Velin directly in the face.
Velin blinked, then smiled. "Excellent."
Euryale's jaw dropped. "That's… excellent?"
Pa, hiding behind a tree with Ma, whispered, "I think he means it's progress, not cleanliness."
Velin wiped his face and knelt again, tracing a spiral in the sand. "Every surge, every spill, every misstep is a conversation. You did just speak to the water. It listened. It merely has… a sense of humor."
Euryale groaned, dripping again. "I hate humor."
Silas, of course, laughed. "No, you don't! You like making the water explode!"
Lyra clapped her hands. "It's funny!"
"Shut up," Euryale muttered, though he couldn't hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Velin stood, water dripping from his robe. "Lesson two: patience. You cannot hurry what flows. You can only bend with it. Step by step. Breath by breath. Feel, do not think."
Euryale's shoulders slumped. "I think about it too much. It keeps laughing at me."
Pa smirked. "Maybe the water just enjoys seeing the future hero flail about."
Ma elbowed him gently. "Hush. Let him learn."
Velin crouched again, lowering his voice to a whisper that only Euryale could hear. "Do not be afraid of making mistakes. You will spill water, fall in mud, and look ridiculous. That is how magic remembers you. Not how you command it."
Euryale's eyes widened. "Look ridiculous?"
"Yes," Velin said, straight-faced. "And from what I see today, you are already… highly memorable."
Euryale blinked at him. "That's… not encouraging."
Silas doubled over, whispering to Lyra, "Told you. I think he's hilarious."
Velin ignored them, tilting his head toward the river. "One more time. Focus. Ask politely. Stand with it, do not wrestle it. Let it rise at its own pace."
Euryale swallowed. He knelt, palms trembling. "Water… please… I just… want to say hello. That's all. Polite hello."
The water quivered. A small arc rose, shimmering softly, curling toward him like a ribbon.
Euryale held his breath. It wavered. He let out a soft laugh. "I… think I did it?"
Velin nodded. "You did. And now you know something important: magic is alive. You do not force it, and it will not always cooperate. You only share moments with it."
Lyra cheered. "Weeeee! He did it! He didn't get eaten!"
Silas elbowed her. "He's a hero. Probably. Maybe. I'll write songs later."
Pa and Ma exchanged a glance, quiet pride shining in their eyes. No one else in the village understood, but they did. Their Euryale—the boy who argued with tides, got splashed constantly, and laughed at his own failures—was learning to stand with the water.
Velin stood, letting the arc collapse softly back into the river. "Tomorrow, we begin again. Remember: no rushing, no anger, no theatrics—except laughter is permitted. It is part of the lesson."
Euryale groaned. "Laughter? Why?"
"Because," Velin said with a smile, "even the sea has a sense of humor. You would do well to respect it."
And far out at sea, the waves rolled in quietly, as if acknowledging that the boy with the White Core—so polite, so awkward, so completely human—was learning to listen.